Allegory of Our Children
by Liongirl90
Summary: While still recovering from an attack from a Dark agent known as the The Shadow, three muppets, Vincent, Arkeesh, and Nightlock are attacked again, and now must cope with the changes that follow. Secrets come out, and mysteries are discovered. The three must battle against a Dark prophecy that foretells of Vincent and Nightlock's destruction, and at the same time balance the troubl
1. Chapter 1

**((Helloooo everyone! As said in the summary,** **this is a major crossover my friend wrote, with a mixture of, Don't hug me I'm scared, Marvel, and Chucky. **

**I do not own this story, all credit goes to her, she wrote it. I am just putting it here :3. Please enjoy and review so I may tell her what you guys think!)) **

Chapter 1. The Empty House.  
"I know, I know."  
"No you don't."  
"Yeah I do. And this is stupid. It's just a cat."  
"Well, I don't like cats."  
"What has Rainbow Cat ever done to you?"  
On July 27, at 3:27 in the morning, the bird and the boy were fighting with each other in  
the kitchen. The two were standing at opposite ends of the table, glaring at each other.  
The boy held a gray cat in his arms. The bird seemed to be trying his best to keep away  
from the cat.  
"It's plotting my demise," came a low growl from across the kitchen. The bird had  
always hated the boy's cat, but he had never spoken of it out loud before. Not that he  
didn't let the boy know how much he hated the gray thing. He was always shooting dirty  
looks at the cat, whenever it happened to be in the vicinity. He would threaten the cat if  
it came to close, and yelled at it when it ignored his warnings, but refrained from ever  
hitting it, or insulting it openly.  
For some reason, something inside of him had snapped that night. The bird had been  
drinking tea, using an old newspaper as a placemat. The cat had leapt onto the table.  
Unaware of the bird's open hostility toward it, the cat chirped happily at him, and dunked  
its paw into his tea. The bird whacked her with the newspaper, while recoiling in fear as  
though she were a diseased rat. The cat had jumped down, mewling in pain, just in time  
for the boy, who had heard the cat's meows, to walk into the kitchen, and see the whole  
scene. They got into a shouting match over it, completely forgetting about their  
caretaker, who was miraculously still asleep.  
"I don't see what your problem is," the boy hissed, "when has she ever tried to harm  
you?"  
The bird countered, "She's too smart to attack me physically. But she gets her licks in  
other ways." The boy rolled his eyes. Scowling, the bird continued, "remember that time  
when I made a plate of poptarts, and she ate them all? I mean, what kind of a cat eats  
poptarts?"  
The boy shifted awkwardly. "I admit," he said, "that was kinda weird. But still. It's the  
same as the time that stray dog ate your sandwich. You didn't get mad at him for that,  
and you didn't even know him."  
The bird glared at the boy. "It was different."  
"No it wasn't, you're just being biased and prejudiced against cats!"  
"WHAT DO YOU EXPECT, I'M A BIRD!"  
"Boys, what are you doing in here at this hour? You should be asleep," said a tired  
voice.  
The bird and the boy stared at each other for a moment, horrified, then simultaneously  
turned their heads towards the speaker. The tall, red bearded creature that they simply  
knew as their caretaker stood in the doorway. Years ago, before the bird had even  
hatched, the guardian had adopted the boy, who was an orphan. To the caretaker's  
great surprise, the boy was not alone. He had been found clutching the egg, insisting  
that he had to protect it. The guardian had taken both of them in.  
The boy had been too young to remember much of their early years, and the bird had  
not even been alive. He remembered vaguely that they were constantly on the road,  
moving from place to place, never staying anywhere for too long. He had often, tearfully,  
asked the guardian why they could not stay in one place; he would often have to leave  
friends behind. The guardian would never answer this. He would only say softly, "When  
you're older, you will understand. Not now. Not yet." And the boy would know that he  
would get no more answers, and to let it go.  
"We were just," the bird mumbled.  
The guardian looked at them both in turn.  
"Couldn't sleep." The boy finished awkwardly.  
At his words, the guardian seemed to take on an expression of sadness. He often  
looked this way these days, after what the bird referred to as "The Event." Sad, tired,  
and scared, he had become distant, unreachable. After The Event, he hardly came out  
of his room. The guardian would stay in there for hours, not making a sound. At first, the  
boy and the bird had not known what to think. They had hung around his door,  
tentatively, sensing that something was wrong. The bird had tried knocking on the door,  
but there was no answer. They would call for him, and knock repeatedly, but got no  
answer. Not even a telling off. He did not acknowledge them at all.  
Once, the boy had gone alone to his door. He knocked quietly, and got no  
answer, as expected, but for some reason, the boy did not leave. He found himself  
placing a hand on the doorknob. Ever so quietly, he turned it. The door opened the  
tiniest sliver, and through it, the boy could see the guardian. He was sitting on a small,  
stiff wooden chair, his head buried in his hands. He did not move. It seemed as though  
he had been sitting that way for a while. At the creaking sound of an opening door, he  
stirred ever so slightly. He slowly lifted his head, and faced the doorway. He was  
shaking. His eyes stared directly where the boy was standing, half hidden by the door.  
The boy gasped with fear, and slammed the door shut. He raced to his own room,  
slammed the door shut, and stayed there until the bird came to get him.  
They didn't see the guardian again for weeks. They didn't dare go near the door. Seeing  
him, standing in the kitchen, rendered them speechless. They watched as the guardian  
make his way towards them. The bird's eyes became hardened.  
"Did we wake you up?" The boy asked.  
The guardian shook his head.  
"I wasn't sleeping."  
A silence fell upon the three.  
"So what made you come out?"  
The bird's voice was cold, and the boy knew that he had been angered and frightened  
by the guardian's disappearance. He watched the guardian intently, to see how he  
would react to the loaded question. The guardian shook his head. His long, red beard  
shook slightly. "I wanted to make sure you two weren't killing each other." With that, he  
left again, leaving the bird and the boy with a hollow feeling of dread. Any hope that the  
boy had had of the guardian coming back to life was gone. Their parent had confirmed  
their greatest fear. They were done. There was nothing left. They were utterly alone.


	2. Chapter 2

A jolt of fear rushed through the boy. He was speechless; he couldn't understand why  
he was lying in bed and why the guardian was out of his room. He wasn't sure what to  
do, or if he should say anything. He didn't move.  
"Good morning," said the guardian.  
The boy, still frozen, replied shakily, "Wha... What happened?" He looked to the  
guardian, waiting for a reply. However, he did not speak again. It was the bird who  
replied.  
"You fell out of a window."  
The boy tried to sit up, but just lifting his head shot an aching pain through it. He lay  
down again. No one said anything for a while, until the guardian mumbled, "You could  
have used the door."  
"We thought you would hear us."  
The guardian only sighed and stood up, making as if to leave. Suddenly, the boy asked,  
"Are we going to move again?"  
He turned again. "No," he said slowly, "There is no point in it now." With that, he walked  
out of the room. The bird and the boy watched him go, feeling more frightened than ever  
before.  
Breaking the silence, the bird mumbled, "I guess he heard you fall, because five  
minutes after you did he was there."  
"What happened? Was he mad?"  
"No. He was just really quiet. He carried you inside and checked to make sure that there  
were no serious injuries."  
"I don't think I can get serious injuries. I'm made of cloth."  
"You still passed out."  
"Did he ask you what we were doing?"  
"Yeah. He asked me how many times we had snuck out," the bird drew his  
knees into his chest, "I told him a lot of times."  
The boy winced. "What did he say?"  
"Nothing. He just sighed."  
The boy shifted uncomfortably. "Is he mad?"  
The bird looked angry. "I don't know. I don't anything about him."  
"Don't yell at me. I'm not our guardian."  
The bird looked at him, and blinked. "I'm sorry." He got up, and left. As he was in the  
doorway he said, "I'm gonna go see where he is. Don't get up. I think you broke your  
head or something. You should get some sleep." And he closed the door.  
"Good luck," the boy whispered.  
The boy's injuries were not bad, and healed quickly. The next morning, he woke up to a  
sunny room. He was alone in bed; the bird must have been somewhere else in the  
house. He stretched his skinny legs out, testing them. They were sore. His head hurt,  
but he thought that he would be able to get out of bed. He tried pushing himself into a  
sitting position, and found that he could do so without experiencing pain. He slowly  
shifted each leg so that they were hanging on the side of the bed. Slowly, carefully, he  
stood up. He instantly wished he had not; the whole room started swaying and spinning,  
and he had to sit down again. The boy looked around his small, shared room. It was a  
nice room. His and the bird's bed was up against the north wall, and stuck out from it.  
There was a window next to it, which held a view of the beautiful landscape outside.  
Their house was somewhere deep in the country, where no one ever came. The  
guardian always said that he enjoyed the privacy, whereas the boy had rather missed  
being around other people. The bird said he couldn't care less, so long as he could fly  
around. From his window, the boy could see the large apple tree in the distance. Before  
the event, all three of them would go to the tree together. Sometimes they would have  
picnics there. The boy would also go there alone. He learned there how to climb.  
The sight of that tree always calmed him. It did so now.  
Behind him, the door the opened. It was the guardian. The serenity faded.  
"I see you're awake," he said.  
The boy blinked at him.  
"How is your head?"  
"Kind of sore." answered the boy nervously. The guardian nodded, as if he had  
suspected that answer.  
"It will be that way for a while," he said.  
"Where's my brother?" The boy asked.  
The guardian smiled through his long beard. The boy had long since learned to  
recognize his smile in his eyes, and was surprised to see it.  
"He's outside," the guardian said. He turned his head to look out the window,  
leaving the boy to his thoughts. Why was the guardian outside of his room? Could it be  
that he was returning to them? The boy was afraid to hope.  
"Why are you here?" He asked finally. The guardian looked at him.  
"I am checking on you," he said in his deep voice.  
"Yeah, but-" he stopped himself, afraid to continue his sentence.  
However, it seemed that the guardian knew exactly what he had been going to ask.  
"Take it easy today," he said as he walked out of the room.  
For the next few days, it seemed as though the guardian was coming back to life. He  
still spent much of his time in his room, but would come out every so often to check on  
the bird and the boy, or to take care of them or the house. The bird and the boy did not  
know what to make of it.  
"Do you think he's coming out of it?" The boy asked, when their guardian was  
not in earshot.  
The bird would only gaze coldly at the bedroom door, and say, "I wont believe it. He only  
came out cause you were hurt. Now that you're better, he's probably gonna go back to  
being a creepy hermit."  
But he did not. True, he was not very talkative, nor did he spend much time out of his  
bedroom, but he did come out. And that was something.  
It was as though spring had come in the house. It no longer seemed as cold or  
threatening as before. The boy still needed to be with the bird whenever was possible,  
but found that he could bear being alone whenever the bird went out to fly. Instead of  
using the window, as the bird had previously done, he now used the door. The boy  
never left the house, though he knew that he could, if he wanted. He was afraid to go  
outside. He stayed in his room mostly, and never went into the kitchen, if it could be  
helped. The boy also liked being in the living room. He would sit on his stool, and read.  
Rainbow Cat, his gray kitten, would sit next to him while he read. At night, he would  
watch television with the bird. The bird would always want to watch nature shows about  
eagles and hawks, while the boy found it violent and disturbing, but they both agreed on  
Sesame Street, most of the time.  
Before The Event, the bird and the boy would always watch an episode of  
Sesame Street or Elmo's World after dinner. Back then, the guardian would be there,  
too. He would tell them stories of all of the muppets from Sesame Street. Indeed, he  
knew many of them personally. The bird had once asked him why they had never lived  
on Sesame Street. The guardian had replied that it was very busy and crowded there,  
and he preferred the peace of the countryside. He had, though, taken them on several  
trips to Sesame Street. The boy had always hoped to see Baby Bear, who was his idol.  
Baby Bear was renowned as the finest artist in all of Sesame Street. His works had  
sparked a love of painting in the boy. He never met Baby Bear on those trips, but still  
watched for him in the shows. He had also wanted to meet , and this dream  
was fulfilled. The guardian was good friends with 's brother, Mr. Noodle, and  
they both had come over to their house in the country a few times. was very  
friendly with the two children, and was like an older cousin to them.  
It became a game for the bird and the boy to find the people they knew on  
Sesame Street, and 's segments on Elmo's World were the boy's favorite.  
After The Event, they stopped watching their shows. So it came as a surprise to the boy  
when he found the bird laying on his belly on the floor one night, watching Elmo's World.  
"Hey, I'm glad you're here. I think is in this one."  
The boy sat down next to the bird, and replied, "I hope so. I like ."  
Five minutes later, the episode revealed not , but 's brother,

"Where's ?" The boy asked inquisitively. The bird shrugged.  
"I don't know. I haven't seen him on since I started watching it again."  
"Wait, you've been watching Elmo's World without me?"  
The bird grinned apologetically. "Sorry."  
The boy sighed as he sat down next to his brother.

It was as if the whole world had been lighted on fire. There was no sound, only a hard  
pressing feeling on his ears. There was a force holding him down, enabling him from  
going to his dying children.  
He could only feel himself screaming, it sounded like it was someone else, though he  
felt utterly alone. His own thought whispered. For his father. But with the thought of him  
came despair, and he knew that he was alone. He thought of his only other guardian.  
He thought of his brother. Blood ran cold down his face, and the clock called Death,  
Death, Death...  
His own handwriting. His own feathers fell off, as his vision ended. He felt his wings  
burning, leaving his arms bare to flesh and bone. He was screaming, he knew it. It  
rubbed his throat raw, and filled his ears. He was melting, slowly, out of existence. He  
knew only pain. He was desperately trying to become one with the pain, in order to save  
himself from becoming nothing. He felt himself slipping away, and suddenly, he was  
angry. Now there was another fire, and this one was blue. It glowed in his bones. He felt  
his fingers fall from his arms. He felt pain as he had never known before. He knew this,  
but focused on the blue light in his bones. Had he been able to see,he still would not  
have seen the glowing skeleton of a real bird where his own melting body was. He  
couldn't see the blue, but it was there. He could feel it. It was holding him there, hiding  
from the darkness so that he could stay. It held him, and he fed into it. His horror was no  
less, but was now joined by anger and passion. He gave way into the fire, and  
screamed. His voice turned blue, invisible in the dark and red of his destruction.  
Suddenly, they were all awake. The immense pressure was starting to ebb away, slowly,  
but surely. The red light was gone. The darkness had reduced itself to a dark gray  
shadow in the room. The t.v. was on. The bird, being so close to it, saw it first.  
It was his own form; mangled, bleeding, and shaking uncontrollably. Then it flashed to  
the boy, his face ragged and torn, oozing blood from every cut. It flashed back to  
himself. In his exhaustion, he felt an almost calm sense in him. The blue was still there,  
slightly less so, but still there. The t.v. went back and forth from his dying figure, to his  
brother's, to the clock's, to his own. Then the clock.  
"But don't worry," said a voice from inside his own head, "I'm sure you'll be fine."  
Now everything had ceased. The pressure was gone. The fire was gone, too. All that  
remained was the ticking noise, pounding incessantly again and again, as though  
counting each second as it slipped by. Counting down to nothing, he thought to himself.  
Still shaking, the bird turned his head to see his brother sitting very still with his eyes  
screwed shut. He glanced over to the guardian, who was sitting just as he had been  
before. In his eyes, there was a hard look. He was staring at the bird and the boy. The  
bird remembered the first time this had happened to them. Their guardian had made  
himself unreachable. The look on his face then had been one of grief and exhaustion.  
Now he only looked stern. He met the bird's eyes, and gazed at him for a long time. He  
then turned to the boy, who had somehow fallen off his stool, and was sitting on the  
ground with his hands over his ears. The bird watched him from his rocking chair.  
The ticking noise continued  
"Sounds like a pipe-bomb," he whispered quietly from the floor, eyes still closed.  
"Sounds like a time-bomb," the bird replied. Suddenly, he realized he was  
rocking in sync with the ticking. He stilled the chair immediately.  
Across the room, the guardian had stood up. He took the now lifeless clock off the wall.  
The bird watched him cautiously.  
The guardian looked sharply at the two children, and said, "Boys, follow me."  
They did so, and he lead them out of the living room and into his own bedroom. There,  
he locked the door, and laid the clock on his bed. The boy's hand quickly found the  
bird's wing, and he held it. The guardian, meanwhile, knelt beside his bed, pulling out a  
drawer beneath it.  
Without looking at them, he said, "Do not be afraid."  
They exchanged nervous glances. With that, he pulled out a silver sword. A soft,  
glowing blue light came from it. The bird was instantly reminded of the blue power he  
had felt inside of him just seconds before. The guardian stood up, and held the sword  
horizontally in front of him. The blue light now shimmered brighter, silhouetting him  
against the sword. The boy breathed a sigh of awe. The bird gasped. They involuntarily  
pressed closer together, as they watched the guardian raise his sword and strike the  
clock in the center. The ticking noise stopped. Everything seemed lighter again. The  
guardian put the sword down gently on his bed, as the blue light slowly left the blade.  
Only a single blue stone on the hilt glowed still.  
Next to the bird, the boy's mouth was hanging open in shock. The bird assumed that  
this was because of the sword, but looking back at the Guardian, he found that the boy's  
amazement was fresh; The guardian had turned to face them, and the bird saw that he  
had turned human. For a puppet, he had been very tall. However, his height was  
average in a human form. His skin was dark, and his eyes were an amber-brown color,  
set slightly close together. Dark circles hung under them, and the bird realized with a  
start that the Guardian was much older than he had looked. His nose was sharp and  
prominent. His long red hair had separated from one tangled mass into a  
distinguishable beard and hair. Both were very long, hanging in dreadlocks, and had a  
natural shade of gingery red. He wore a red t-shirt that revealed muscular arms.  
"What?" The bird hissed in shock as he watched for the first time a smile unfold  
on the guardian's lips.  
"I should have told you long ago, I see that now." His voice, the bird realized,  
was much deeper than it had been.  
"Who are you?" The boy's voice was fearful. The guardian crossed his arms, not  
unkindly.  
"I am who I have always been." Here, he got down on one knee next to the boy,  
and said comfortingly, "You call me your guardian," he chuckled, "but you have no idea  
what that means."  
"Tell us!" the bird demanded angrily. The guardian gazed at him kindly.  
"I am a Guardian, but not in the way that you think. I suggest you sit down, this  
story is a rather long one."  
A few moments later, the three were seated in a circle on the Guardian's floor  
"So, what is the deal? " the bird asked.  
"The deal? Well guys, the deal is very complicated."  
"We're listening," said the boy.  
The guardian smiled. "Now, you know that I found you both in an alley, alone, and  
orphaned. What I didn't tell you was that I was looking for you specifically."  
The bird and the boy stared at him questioningly. "Well," the guardian continued, "I was  
actually looking for the boy. I didn't know that there were two of you until I saw you  
holding that egg. " he shifted his position, and breathed deeply. "I am part of an  
organization dedicated to the protection of children. We are a group of guardians."  
"Like that movie where Santa Clause was a Russian and the Easter bunny was  
from Australia and the tooth fairy was a bird?" The boy inquired. The guardian nodded.  
"We are like that group. The only difference is that we don't belong to holiday  
legends."  
"And you don't have Jack Frost working with you, either."  
The guardian looked at the bird, who had spoken these last words, with a rather queer  
look.  
"Yes. That is also true. We work against-"  
The guardian was interrupted by the bird.  
"Too bad, Jack Frost is beautiful."  
They stared at him. He returned their gaze with a blank look.  
"As I was saying," the guardian continued, "The guardians are only part if a  
larger group of Protectors. We work against a group called the Dark Forces. They are  
made up of many, and their only goal seems They have an agent. Something channels  
the very spirit of the Darkness itself. It is elusive, and deadly. It is sometimes called the  
Dark Agent, and at other times referred to as 'The Shadow'. This agent is famous for it's  
silent, subtle work. It usually collects members for the Dark Forces. Our own spies had  
told us of the Dark Forces' plans to bring in another assassin. The type of assassin they  
are looking for are very rare in their team. These assassins must blend in, and seem  
innocent and inconspicuous. Two traits that are very hard to come by in the Dark  
Forces. That is why they value The Shadow so much; it gets them what they need, and  
quickly, too. Then these spies go out to continue its work.  
"Fortunately, we have our own spies. One of them, a good friend of mine, was almost  
destroyed by two of these assassins. His name was Charlie the Unicorn. Once he  
realized who they were, he alerted us immediately of their presence. We had them  
followed. Later, we received information that they were planning to carry out another  
attack on a newborn child. We knew nothing of who this child was, who its parents  
were, or even what type of being it was. I was assigned to find and protect this child. I  
found him in an alley, abandoned, and in danger."  
Here, the Guardian paused in his speech, staring directly at the boy, waiting for him to  
catch on. When he did not, the Guardian said gently, "It was you."  
The boy gaped at him, trying to find what to say.  
"Why?"  
The guardian looked sad. "I cannot explain that, yet. You will know, soon enough,  
though I dread the day that you do."  
The bird felt his brother shiver next to him. "So where do I come in?" He asked.  
The guardian raised his eyebrows."I do not know for sure. The boy told me that  
you were given to him, and it was very important that he stay with you." The bird  
rounded on the boy.  
"Who gave you my egg?" He asked excitedly, "Do you remember?"  
The boy thought for a moment. "It was a lady," he said quietly, speaking to the floor, "A  
really nice one. She handed me your egg, and told me to take care of it. She stayed and  
talked to me, too. I don't remember much of it, but I think of her sometimes. I dream  
about her every once in a while." He was smiling vaguely, remembering the time he had  
spent with her. The bird watched him. He hadn't seen him smile since the first Event. He  
looked back at the Guardian.  
"So, if you knew that there were assassins out to kill us, why didn't you tell us  
about it?"  
"You were so young," he replied. "I couldn't tell you then."  
The bird pressed on. "Why didn't you tell us after the notebook thing," he asked, his  
voice cold, "Why did you stop coming out? You left us." He was on his feet now, his  
voice shaking. All the fear and anger he had felt since the first attack seemed to be  
rising to the top, ready to explode out from his tongue. From the ground, the guardian  
raised his hands in a calming gesture.  
"I was wrong to do so. I knew it even then."  
He made as if to continue, but the bird interrupted him again. "Do you have any idea  
how scared we were?"  
To his surprise, the Guardian answered him.  
"Yes, yes I do. In fact, I was more frightened than you were."  
The bird cocked his head and made a noise of scorn.  
"I knew that the assassins would eventually catch up with us. When they did, I  
would just have to fight them."  
"But you didn't. You just let it happen."  
"I was unable to do anything to prevent it. This was the most frightening thing of  
all. In the first Event, there was dark magic used upon us all. It made me incapable of  
defending you. It broke me. I even forgot that there would most likely be another attack."  
The boy hugged his knees to his chest, and dipped his head down.  
The guardian continued, "I was gone. I thought you were, too. I didn't think they  
would send the second assassin."  
The bird let those words sink in. An image flashed in his mind, of an alleyway. On a cold  
brick wall, he saw a wanted poster with his brother's face on it. The bird glanced back at  
him, then at the Guardian.  
"My job was to protect you from the Dark Forces at all costs, and I had allowed  
the assassins to come into direct contact with you. I failed you both. I couldn't bear to  
face either of you."  
There was a momentary silence.  
"However, I was wrong. You came back to life."  
The memory of blue came into the bird's mind. The guardian was gazing at them with a  
hint of pride in his eyes. "You refused to give up flying," he said, pointing his gaze at the  
bird, "And the two of you stayed together. "  
"Most of the time," said the boy.  
"Most of the time," agreed the guardian.  
The bird interjected, "Is it gonna happen again?"  
The guardian met the bird's eye. Maybe it was in the angle at which he held his head,  
but the bird thought that he bore resemblance to the muppet he had been previously.  
"Maybe."


	3. Chapter 3

**((Here is Chapter 3, sorry this took so long. :) )) **

Chapter 3. Healing for Training  
You've got a friend in me, sang the television. You got a friend in me.  
"Are you watching Toy Story?" Jane Foster had walked into the living room. Clint  
Barton, who was sitting on an old, ugly looking gray couch replied, "Not really. I was  
looking for the news."  
"What's the point?" came a third voice. "They will have no information we need."  
A tall, dark-haired man was lying upside down next to Clint.  
"Exactly," Clint replied. "That's why I changed it."  
Jane inquired of the other, "Loki, why are you sitting like that?"  
Loki did not reply, but stared at her for a long time.  
"Right," she said under her breath. "I'm gonna go find Thor." She walked back  
through the open doorway into the kitchen area, where Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, and a  
thirteen-year-old were sitting around a small table. She stood still; Thor had been sitting  
with them a moment ago.  
"Where's Thor?"  
Steve hid a laugh through a sip of his coffee and Tony replied, "He's marveling at the  
shower. "  
Jane glanced at him, then at the child, who returned her gaze cautiously.  
"Is he taking a shower?" Jane asked Tony.  
Steve replied, "No, he's just fascinated by it. The Asgardians have different ways  
of bathing."  
A small, barely audible whisper came from the child."He called it sorcery and damned it  
for all eternity; he might have hit his head on the showerhead."  
Jane laughed. "Okay, then." She sat down next to the girl, who watched her intently.  
Two weeks ago, S.H.I.E.L.D had heard tell of a disturbance in a small town in New  
Jersey. A woman had claimed that she had been attacked by a wolf, though there were  
no wolves at all in her area. Officials had blamed the bites and scratches on a bear, but  
further investigations by S.H.I.E.L.D had shown that the bites contained powerful magic.  
Clint Barton, Thor, and his brother Loki had been assigned to find the attacker and bring  
it to S.H.I.E.L.D headquarters. Stark and Rogers had followed, curious about what the  
group needed Loki for. Upon arriving at the site, they looked through the woods near the  
woman's home, and found a thirteen-year-old, ragged looking girl. She was skinny, with  
long unevenly colored, tangled hair. Huge, frightened, angry eyes had stared at them  
through the trees. Clint lowered his bow, shocked. Next to him, Loki whispered, "She's  
the attacker."  
"I doubt it, Loki"  
"She is, I can see it in her eyes, she's a werewolf."  
Clint didn't take his eye off the kid, but gripped his bow tighter.  
"Is she a threat?"  
"If we aren't careful, yes." He stood up, "she's frightened."  
Clint replied, "Is that good?"  
Loki said under his breath, "No, that will make her more dangerous. A werewolf is most  
aggressive on the defense."  
"That makes no sense," Clint grumbled. "Alright, so how do we approach her?"  
Loki, however, was already padding slowly towards the werewolf.  
"Jay? Lsraku nga?" He said louder.  
The girl nodded. "Nga zerok?"  
"Srane."  
" Ayfo lsraku afìtseng?"  
Loki replied gently, "It's alright, they won't harm you. Come out. Za'u ftumfa."  
The girl then stepped out from the trees. "Do what you will," she said in a thick, alien  
accent.  
They had taken her not to S.H.I.E.L.D headquarters, but into the empty house. (The  
woman was still in the hospital) There, Loki had questioned her. They discovered that  
she was, indeed, a werewolf. She had been living near the house for a long time, saying  
that it had been her grandfather's. She meant to remove herself from the area during  
the full moon, but had not been able to in time. She showed every remorse for attacking  
the lady. Her name was Jay, and apparently, Loki knew her.  
"She has no pack, but she knows a friend of mine, named Fenrir."  
"So how long has she been wandering around here?" asked Tony Stark.  
"I do not know."  
Loki had requested that the girl not be brought before S.H.I.E.L.D, for reasons that he  
would not specify. He and Thor were to take her to Asgard, where they would find her  
pack. They got permission to leave her with the Asgardians, then stayed in a nearby  
apartment, owned by Darcy Williams.  
They had been there for a day, in which Jane Foster had visited her friend, and found to  
her surprise the assorted group of people in her intern's office.  
From the bathroom emerged a dripping wet Thor, dressed in Midgardian clothes.  
His eye was black, and he wore a grumpy expression.  
"Had a good shower?" Tony asked, smirking.  
Thor glared at him. Meanwhile, in the room next to the kitchen, Loki and Clint were still  
watching Toy Story.  
"The magical principles behind this show are completely messed up," Loki said  
from his upside down position. Clint turned to him.  
"It's not really about that, its a Disney movie."  
"Well," Loki asked, "What is it about?"  
Clint sighed, irritated. "Haven't you been paying attention? "  
"No, of course not."  
Clint snorted and returned to the movie. "It's about Andy and his toys who are alive"  
"You know what would make this more interesting?"  
"What, Loki?"  
"If we were in it," Loki replied.  
Clint looked at him inquiringly. Loki's eyes were laughing.  
"I know a spell that could bring us into the situations of the movie, then back  
here in absolutely no time at all."  
Clint brought his knees to his chest. "Really." He said disbelievingly.  
"Yes."  
"Alright then, take us inside this movie."  
Loki slid off the couch. He drew a circle on the floor, using a piece of charcoal that he  
certainly had not had before. Clint watched him in interest despite himself.  
"Drawing circles on the ground? Kinda clichè, Loki."  
Loki glared at him, then returned to his circle. He drew a triangle in the center.  
"I don't think Darcy will appreciate you drawing on her carpet."  
"Silence, I need to concentrate. I don't want to end up stuck in the limbo."  
He started muttering under his breath in what sounded like Norse. After a minute, he  
asked, "What movie would you want to end up in? This one?"  
Clint shrugged. "Sure. Why not." He was still not convinced Loki was serious; it seemed  
a ridiculous piece of magic for a sorcerer to know.  
Loki mumbled some more, then looked up from the circle, almost at the sky, and said  
out loud, "Take us, Clint Barton, Darcy Williams, Jane Foster, Thor Odinson, the  
werewolf Jay, and myself into the world where the child Andy's toy comes to life." Clint  
started to hear a humming noise.  
"What about Stark and Rogers?"  
Loki dismissed them with a wave of his hand. "Too many people," he muttered, focused  
again on the circle, which had started to glow.  
Now Clint started to look concerned. "You're actually gonna do this, aren't you?"  
"Yes," Loki said, his eyes glowing. The humming noise grew louder, and Clint  
realized it was coming from the circle itself. The triangle started to burn red through the  
floor, and the circle emitted a shining blue light. Suddenly, the world started spinning  
around violently for a split-second, then everything went white, then silence.  
The people named by Loki to go along were there, standing in a toy store. Looking  
around, Clint noticed that they were not animated.  
"Hey Loki, were we supposed to change at all?"  
Loki, however, looked worried. "Yes," he replied, "we were." From the other side of the  
store, they heard a gasp. Jane, who had been looking around the store, whispered,  
"Guys, what's going on?"  
Clint turned around. "Loki decided to take us into Toy Story."  
"Was that the name?" came Loki's voice.  
"I don't get it," came Jane's voice. "What happened? Where are we?" Darcy,  
who was observing one of the boxes in the store, said, "Guys, this doesn't look like Toy  
Story."  
Loki shrugged, "I was specific," he said, "I asked for the movie about the kid named  
Andy whose toys came to life."  
Clint, who had seen what was in the boxes surrounding them, said in a shaking voice,  
"You said toy. Not toys, toy."  
"What difference does it make?"  
Clint walked slowly towards him.  
"It makes a lot of difference. There was another story  
about a kid named Andy whose favorite toy came to life. And it was a horror film."  
Loki looked around him, eyebrows raised, a mock expression of shame on his face.  
"What do you mean?"  
It was Darcy who replied. "I looked at the boxes. We're in Child's Play."  
Jane looked around, horrified. "What do we do now?"  
"We run," said Darcy knowingly, "the building's about to blow up."  
"Way to go, Loki." Clint growled.

They did not leave the house, to the boy's immense surprise. The guardian was  
determined to stay put. That evening, he made the bird and the boy go to bed as usual,  
but he stayed outside of their door all night. He spent all of the next day searching  
through the house, not telling them what it was he was looking for. They tried to help  
him, but because they had no idea what to look for, they soon decided to leave him to  
his search, and go outside.  
"What do you want to do?" the bird asked his brother as he shut the door behind  
them. The boy stared up at the sky; it was a beautiful day, yet somehow, he felt as  
though he wasn't really seeing it. The sky looked painted, and the sun fake. He could  
not feel the breeze, though he could see it blowing through his hair. He mumbled under  
his breath, "I don't know." The bird followed his gaze to the sun.  
"Doesn't seem real, does it?"  
The boy nodded.  
"It doesn't feel real until I change," the bird continued. "It's like, once I'm real, the  
rest of the world is real to me."  
The boy felt a twinge of envy at this. All his life, he had wished he could morph into a  
living person. His brother could, and now he discovered that the Guardian could. The  
boy would have given anything to be human, truly human, but he did not want to be  
bitter.  
Now, he shoved it aside. "Are you gonna fly?"  
The bird nodded. "I wish there was some way I could take you with me," he said.  
The boy laughed quietly, looking down at his shoes. "Me, too."  
The bird stared at him, waiting for him to say more, but the boy was silent. He shrugged  
and molted, and stretched out his wings. The boy stepped back suddenly, gasping; The  
bird's wingspan had increased since the last time he had changed, and his beak  
seemed much longer, and more elegant. The original fluffy green tuft of feathers on his  
head were now a long, regal crest. The feathers were a darker green, and his wing-line  
glowed blue. The bird did not notice this, and shot off as the boy called, "Your wings!  
Your wings! They're-"  
He never finished; the bird was already to high up to hear him.  
Later that evening, the boy was telling the tale to the Guardian and the bird.  
"I mean, he looked cool before, but he... he was... it was like a Pokèmon!" He  
stuttered, "Evolving from its fuzzy-cute phase to its really awesome phase!"  
The bird, who had been listening from his rocking chair, enraptured, now said, "My early  
phase wasn't that fuzzy."  
The boy blinked at him. "It kinda was."  
"No it wasn't," the bird said scornfully.  
The Guardian looked from the boy, who was sitting hunched over on his stool, to the  
bird.  
"Is that really important right now, guys?" he asked.  
The boy shook his head, and the bird just muttered to himself. The Guardian leaned  
back in his chair.  
"Alright, then. Now, what do you think caused this change?" he inquired of the  
two.  
The boy looked down at his feet, feeling nervous. The bird stared at the Guardian  
questioningly.  
"That's what we were gonna ask you." He stated.  
The Guardian smiled knowingly. "Exactly why I asked you."  
The bird glanced at the boy, trying to catch his eye, but the boy was still staring at the  
floor. The bird had rapidly changed, that was the one thing he did know. What would  
have caused this? It must have something to with the clock, he thought. Or maybe, he  
was just growing up. Could this be a growth spurt?  
"It's almost like he suddenly became an adult," the boy said quietly, but clearly.  
"The strange thing is, why hasn't he changed in his muppet form, as well."  
The Guardian nodded slowly. "Curiouser and curiouser," he mumbled.  
"Huh?"  
The Guardian shook his head. "You are on the right track, I believe," he said to the boy.  
"Not yet an adult, but certainly not a child. Neither of you."  
The boy looked uncertain. "I haven't changed, though. Logically, I mean, if the bird was  
growing up, I would be, too."  
"You might be. On the inside."  
The bird laughed, not unkindly, "Yeah, on the outside, you're still the awkward little boy  
thing."  
The boy rubbed his shoulder uncomfortably.  
The days passed strangely, in a blur. The boy found himself acting in a reclusive way,  
spending most of his time inside. The bird continued to fly, and his new plumage stayed.  
The two brothers found that they were spending less and less time together.  
Once, when the bird was outside, the boy was sitting in the living room, reading. From  
the kitchen came the Guardian's voice, calling him into the kitchen.  
"I'm coming," he called cheerfully, though he did not smile. He stood up to go,  
and as he did, his foot caught on something. It was a small, hand-held mirror. The boy  
felt a shiver run down his back. In spite of this, he stooped down to pick it up. Looking  
inside, he saw his own face, staring mournfully back at him. The boy thought himself  
rather strange-looking. His eyes were huge, and a lack of eyebrows made this even  
more apparent. His nose looked like a potato. His skin was a yellowish color; he had  
known this, but somehow, seeing his face that way made him detest the tinge. His blue  
hair was short, and hung in an awkward tuft on top of his head. What bothered him most  
was his eyes, however. To lighten his expression, he smiled. What he saw made him  
start. He blinked his eyes, not believing the reflection was his, but it only seemed worse.  
He stopped smiling, but the image in the mirror did not change. The face that looked  
back at him terrified him. He looked mad. The boy stared, transfixed, at the mirror.  
"Are you coming?" Came the Guardian's voice.  
The boy snapped his head towards the door, away from the mirror. He looked toward  
the door, then ran for his room, leaving the mirror behind him. He locked the door, and  
stayed there for the rest of the day. The Guardian knocked on the door at one point, to  
which the boy replied, "Please leave me alone." The Guardian understood, and left.  
The boy stayed in there all night, alone. The Guardian must have told the bird to leave  
him alone, because he did not enter. At around ten o'clock, the boy saw from under the  
door the lights in the hallway go out, and knew that the others were asleep. The house  
was cold, empty, and frightening all over again. Slowly, the boy walked over to his bed,  
and sat down. Next to his bed was a nightstand, containing all of his possessions. He  
opened it up, and took out a sketchbook and a pencil. The boy glanced at the window,  
then back at his sketchpad. He opened it up to a fresh page, and began drawing. His  
hands were shaking; he had not been brave enough to draw again after the first event.  
He drew a picture of Rainbow Cat as he had first seen her; trailing rainbows from  
behind her. He sketched out a drawing of the bird's new form. As the night wore on, his  
drawings slowly became darker. Familiar, friendly images were now painted in warscenes,  
or in chains. When he finished, the sun was up, and he had collapsed on the  
bed, fast asleep.

The Guardian crossed his legs, listening. The boy had gone to bed early, in fact, at  
noon. The door opened suddenly, flung open by a disgruntled looking bird. The  
Guardian raised his eyebrows. "How are the skies?"  
The bird plopped down in his rocking-chair. "Blue."  
The Guardian nodded as he picked up the newspaper. The bird grabbed the t.v remote,  
and turned on the television. On the screen was an explosion, which made the  
Guardian look up.  
"What are you watching?" He asked warily. Ever since the Events, he had been  
rigidly strict about what the bird and the boy watched on television. The bird watched for  
a second to see a group of aliens destroy several tall buildings of New York.  
"I don't know," he answered. The Guardian layer down his newspaper to see a  
man on the screen aim an arrow at another man. The latter caught it, and shot a smirk  
behind him as the arrow blew up in his face. The bird was enraptured.  
"Change it, please."  
The bird reluctantly changed the channel.  
"That guy was cool." He mumbled.  
The Guardian ,who had returned to his newspaper, merely nodded.  
"How do you do that?"  
"Do what?" The Guardian turned the page.  
"Use a bow and arrow. I've always thought it looked cool."  
The Guardian nodded, not taking his eyes off his newspaper. The bird scowled, wishing  
the Guardian would pay more attention to him. He pressed on, "Do you know how?"  
"I know a bit of archery."  
Excited, the bird asked, "Is it hard?"  
The Guardian nodded yet again.  
"Oh." The bird looked down at his wingtips. He had never though it strange that  
they functioned as fingers. "Do you have a bow?"  
The Guardian shook his head. "Oh, no. I was never really an archer. I am mostly skilled  
with the sword."  
"Wouldn't a bow be better?" The bird asked curiously, "Then you could attack  
from far away, with less chance of being hurt."  
The Guardian layer down his newspaper. "You've given that much thought." He stared  
at him. The bird shifted awkwardly. After a minute, the Guardian said, "Good." Then he  
picked up his newspaper again. The bird sighed. He was bored. He had always been  
restless, it was in his nature, but the past few weeks had been the hardest of his life.  
Flying was the only escape from the cold, empty house that he had. The bird, deciding  
that the living room was boring, stood up and asked, "Where's my brother?"  
At this, the Guardian once more laid down his newspaper. "He's in your room. But  
please, do not disturb him."  
The bird felt a jolt of fear go through him. "Why not?" He asked angrily. The Guardian  
looked at him sadly. "He's frightened right now."  
"Of what," the bird asked defensively. He was more scared for his brother than  
he'd like to admit.  
"My guess," said the Guardian, "Himself."  
It got colder in the house. The bird looked out the window, where the sun was setting.  
"Can I go out again?" He mumbled, knowing that he wasn't allowed outside in  
the dark.  
The Guardian glanced at the wall beside him, as if to check the time, then remembered  
that he had destroyed their clock. He sighed, and turned back to the bird.  
"Yes," he said, to the birds great surprise, "You may go."  
As he watched the bird fly out the window, he murmured to himself, "Who am I to clip a  
bird's wings?"  
A tall, dark-haired man crouched over a girl's body. She was injured. The cold, white  
fingers were stained with blood as he checked her wounds.  
"We can't. We can't just knock on a random door and hope that they just so  
happen to be friendly," came a young woman's voice. She sounded angry, and scared.  
A man's deep, strong voice replied, "We do not have a choice. The child is dying."  
Another voice, rougher and higher, growled, "I'm with Jane. I mean, look what  
happened the first time."  
"How bad is she, Loki?" A different girl spoke.  
The dark-haired man answered, "It's hard to tell in this light. Last I saw, her conditions  
were critical-" Here he was cut off by the owner of the deep voice.  
"Then we have to get help! The price of her death would be greater than you  
could imagine."  
The rough voice laughed darkly and said, "Yeah, you wouldn't her family coming after  
you in revenge, huh?"  
The man near the child cleared his throat in an irritated fashion. "Her conditions  
are critical," he continued, " For a human. She can hold on for another while."  
"I'm gonna knock," said the second girl.  
The first woman called out in protest, "Darcy, no! We have to-" Darcy paid no  
bounced over to the small door in the hill, leaving the others to follow. Weird,  
she thought, it looks like Teletubby country out here. Look, there are the flowers. As she  
walked down the the large hill where the she, Jane, Loki, Thor, and Clint Barton had  
seen smoke earlier that day, she noticed that it caved in suddenly. It formed an archway,  
covered in grass. It looked exactly like the teletubbies's doorway. She stopped, and  
stared at the door. It was made of metal. She shrugged, and knocked. "Hello?"  
The doors stayed shut. "Um, we need help. It's dark outside, and we have an injured  
person, and... she's hurt... and it's dark out, so... Will you help us?"  
The door opened suddenly. A vacuum cleaner with eyes rolled out.  
Darcy's mouth dropped open in shock. She was right. It was Teletubby country.  
By now, the rest of the group had caught up with Darcy. Thor was carrying the injured  
girl. The vacuum cleaner, using its long, trunk-like nose, beckoned them inside. All four  
Teletubbies were sitting inside. Clint laughed, and Jane looked shocked. Thor and Loki,  
however, seemed to regard them as aliens. The girl was unconscious.  
"Can they help us?" Loki asked, "What are they?"  
The four Teletubbies were talking furtively amongst themselves. Finally, the green one  
came towards the strangers. In a shaky voice, he said in English, "Hai. I am Dipsy. You  
come to us for she is hurt. I assume."  
Jane nodded, taking charge. "Is there anything you can do for her?"  
Dipsy shook his head, then nodded. "A big house is over the way. Find for the bird. The  
good man is there and he will help."  
The group exchanged glances. Thor looked down at the girl, then out the window. It was  
dark now. "How far is this house?" He demanded.  
Dipsy answered, "House is not long. Find bird. Boy helps too. Find mostly the  
Guardian. He saves your child."  
Jane turned around, and shot her team a questioning look. "Will she make it?"  
Loki nodded. "If it isn't far." Dipsy smiled, and took them outside. It took them a few  
hours to make it to the house. It felt like ages.

The boy awoke that morning to the sound of his brother.  
"Listen, bro, we gotta, hey, listen!" He slapped the boy.  
"Ow, what?" He answered, irritated. He lifted his right hand to shield his face  
from the bird, while his left hand fumbled to hide the sketchpad.  
"Alright, look, sorry for hitting you, the guardian told me not to, but you gotta  
wake up!"  
The boy groaned. "What... why?"  
The bird started bouncing up and down excitedly. "Because there are people here!"  
The boy sat up immediately. "What?" he shrieked, horrified. He was thinking of the clock  
and the notebook. The bird seemed unconcerned.  
"Yeah, people! They just decided to knock on our door, and the Guardian let  
them in!"  
"Why? Why would he do that?"  
The bird was suddenly subdued.  
"I don't know," he mumbled, "You know what, your right, that is weird. Let's go  
ask him."  
With this, the bird hopped down from their bed and left the room. The boy followed,  
staying very close to his brother.  
"We actually were aiming for something very different," came a female voice  
from the living room. "Or so I've heard."  
They emerged into the living room to find the strangest group they had ever seen. Five  
people stood, accompanied by their Guardian. One, a tall, dark haired man, noticed  
their entry, and asked, "Are these the children you spoke of?" The Guardian, noticing  
them for the first time, nodded.  
"Indeed."  
"hi." Squeaked the boy. The bird nodded curtly. "Hey."  
The man smiled. "Greetings." He was very thin, and his black, shoulder-length hair  
looked unkept. His piercing eyes startled the boy; they were a bright, deep green.  
Behind him was an equally tall man, extremely muscular, with long blond hair. He  
looked wary, and wore an angry expression. Next to him was a pretty young woman,  
who was the one they had heard speaking. Two other people stood close by. One of  
them was texting, the other was standing silently with his arms crosses. His eyes were  
hidden by a pair of sunglasses, so the boy couldn't tell what he was feeling.  
The Guardian stood behind the two brothers, and put either hand on one of their  
shoulders.  
"They look like puppets," said the texting girl.  
The boy felt offended, then scared.  
"They are," said the Guardian simply.  
The dark man said quietly, "We thank you for your hospitality."  
"She looked in bad shape."  
Who were they talking about? The boy wondered.  
"Who's hurt?" Asked the bird.  
"I was," said a voice. A young girl stepped out from behind the group, and smiled  
at them. She was a teenager, with dark hair that fell a few inches past her shoulders.  
Her eyes were grey. "The Guardian healed me."  
The Guardian smiled down at his children, and said, "This is Jay. The tall man is Loki,  
the one next to him is Thor. This is Clint Barton, Jane Foster, and Darcy Williams. "  
Clint Barton jerked his head in acknowledgement, and raised a hand. Darcy smiled and  
waved. Jane smiled, and Loki grinned maliciously. Thor announced, in his deep,  
powerful voice, "Greetings, children."  
"Have you spoken to them of the deal, Arkeesh?" Loki asked.  
The boy looked around quizzically.  
The Guardian replied, "No." He turned to them. "Would you like to learn from these  
people?" The boy had to sit down.


	4. Chapter 4

**((My friend apologizes for the writing quality. She has been distracted lately.) **

Chapter Four. The Training.

The boy looked from face to face, trying to understand the question. The bird, on the contrary, wore an interested, excited look. The Guardian explained walked in front of them, and crossed his arms behind his back. "These people have agreed to give you training in various fields." The boy mistook him.

"What's wrong with the one behind the house?" The bird punched his arm and hissed,

"It's a phrase." The Guardian grinned.

Thor stepped forward, and said to them formally, "As thanks for healing one of our own, we offer our knowledge to you both." It hit home for the boy. "Are we going to a school?" he asked excitedly. Loki smirked. "No," he said, "Your Guardian requested that we teach you some of the skills we possess, in order for your survival." The boy's eyes widened. "Are we going to die?" The Guardian looked at him. "It's time that I was brutally honest with you. You aren't children anymore." He smiled at the boy sadly, like it was the last time he would see him. "Loki," he said, and nodded. "Take my hand," Loki said as he grabbed the boy arm gently. He felt a slow, tingling sensation where Loki's fingers were. He looked down at his arm, and gasped. His cloth coverings were turning into real skin, while keeping the original yellow color. The tingling coolness seeped through his entire body, making him feel more awake than he had ever been before. It was refreshing, exhilarating and cleared his mind. He could distinguish the feeling of his clothes on his body, and heard a distinct pounding rhythm in his ears. His overalls felt scratchy and uncomfortable. "Woah!" Next to him, the bird exclaimed, "You look weird! You're like a real person!" The boy kept staring at his hands. "I am," he whispered. Clint laughed and said, "He's a real boy." The boy looked up at him, confused. "Really? You've never heard of Pinnochio?" Loki glanced at the Guardian, and said, "In order to train you, Arkeesh thought it necessary to have you in a more stable form than a puppet." The bird looked confused. "Which of you is Arkeesh?" The Guardian smiled sheepishly. "I am. That is my name." The boy was surprised all over again. "You have a name?" asked the bird, speaking, as he so often did, what was on boy's mind. Jane Foster raised her eyebrows. "You mean you've lived with this guy for your whole lives and didn't know his name until now?" The bird and the boy looked at each other, then at her. The bird shrugged and nodded, and the boy replied, "Yup." Jane shook her head. Loki took this opportunity to clasp the bird's wing in his hand, evoking a change similar to the boy's. The bird jumped back in anger, but it was too late. He had changed into a human form of himself, though he highly resembled himself. His skin was the exact shade of his feathers, and he was wearing the same clothes. He was taller, and looked about the same age as Jay. His hair was short, and his narrowed eyes were a bright yellow-green, like a cat's. He looked down at his new body, and hissed, "What did you do? I'm a bird!" Loki raised his hands. "Arkeesh told me that you had already figured out how to change your form into organic matter,I n the form of a bird. You will still be able to access that form." At this, the bird relaxed. "So," he growled, "Arkeesh, you seem to have been planning this, and" here, he glanced at his brother, and started. "You got tall." He said, his eyes wide. The boy shifted his weight awkwardly, and ran a hand through his new hair. He then found that it was long again. The boy felt nervous. Jay caught his eye, and smiled. "Nga frawzo lu" she whispered. He was the only one who heard. "I was," Arkeesh answered. "Planning to teach you myself. However, these people could give you more than I could. Last night, I spoke to them about this plan. They agreed." "Where do you come from?" The boy asked curiously. They did not answer for a while. Finally, Clint said, "Far away." Loki expanded, "We come from an entirely different dimension. I performed a spell that was supposed to take us inside of the situations of a movie called Toy Story," Clint started laughing. Loki looked irritated. "I didn't know the name of the movie then," he was interrupted again by Clint, "Yeah, Loki got us landed in Child's Play." Loki shrugged. Jane, however, was nodding slowly to herself. "So that's what happened," she murmured. Loki continued his story, "The spell dictates that while years could pass here, no time will pass at all in our own world." The boy was still confused. "Why would you stay?" Loki was quiet. He looked to Clint, who looked at Darcy, who looked at Jane, who looked at Thor, who looked awkward. It was Jay who answered, "You needed help. This would have been an interesting experience." The boy smiled. The bird said, "Awesome. When do we start?" Jay nudged Loki with her elbow, and said teasingly, " Pxoan mungìme lì'u ngaru." He smirked. "How do you know that?" Clint crossed his arms and said, "Before we start, you guys need names. I am assuming that you've never used names?" The two nodded. Jay sat down on the floor and crossed her legs. The others followed, with Arkeesh sitting in his chair. They had, without trying, arranged themselves in a circle. The boy raised his hand, as if asking a question in school. Clint caught on, and pretending to scan the circle, then set eyes on the boy. In a falsetto voice he said, "You sir, what is your question?" The boy brushed his long hair behind his ears, keeping it out of his face. "I don't have a question. I just wanted to say that you're right, we've never used names before." "Okay, you could have nodded." Clint shook his head awkwardly. "Well, you guys need names. Do you have any ideas?" The bird glanced at the boy, who shrugged. The bird stated, "I like Rip." Arkeesh shook his head. "No." The bird was offended. "What's wrong with Rip?" The Guardian gave a small laugh. "You're not being Rip." The bird rolled his eyes. To break the silence, Loki said, "What kind of bird are you? " The bird replied, "I think I'm a crow." Clint laughed and nodded to Loki. "Why not be Crow?" He suggested. As he spoke, Jay's eyes lighted up. "Crowfeather," she whispered. Loki looked questioningly at her. "Crowfeather is a character from the Warriors books," she explained. The bird was excited at the word Warrior. "Who is Crowfeather?" He asked. "He's a warrior cat." The bird recoiled. "I hate cats," he hissed angrily. Darcy laughed. "Guess that's out." The boy lifted his head shyly, "I like the bird-name idea," he said, "Why not go with Raven? Or something like that..." The bird seemed unenthusiastic. "Raven is too romantic. I still like Rip." The boy wore a pained expression. "I don't like Rip for you, it's just too violent." "It's not that Rip is violent, though it is," Arkeesh put in, "It sounds like a dog's name. Choose something refined." The bird crossed his arms. "Like what?" "Cato," said Clint. "Mike," said Jay "Theodore," said Jane. "Cato?" Loki asked. Clint nodded. "From the Hunger Games. Cato is the kid from District 2." "No," Loki protested, "Cato isn't sophisticated enough." The bird sighed. "I actually liked Cato," he mumbled. "Alright then," said Clint, "What about Seneca, or Nightlock?" "Seneca?" The bird snapped from his hunched state immediately. Darcy smiled, "That could work, with the bird thing. You know, Seneca Crane." The bird stared at her. "But I'm not a crane." Jane rolled her eyes. "Okay, how about Nightlock?" Jay started smiling, then tried to hide it. "Is Nightlock a bird name?" The bird asked suspiciously. Jay answered, "No, it's the name of a berry." The bird looked confused. "A poison berry," Clint continued, "It's dark blue, but not a blueberry." "What happens when you eat it?" "You drop dead." The bird grinned. "I love it." Arkeesh, however, did not. "A poisonous berry? You want to be named after fruit?" Jay bit her lip. "It was used in a desperate act of suicide, love, and rebellion." The bird's eyes glowed. He turned his pleading eyes on the Guardian. He lifted his hands in consent. "It's better than Rip." "Rip would have been my first choice." Arkeesh raised his eyebrow. "Nightlock is already pushing the limit." The bird noted, "Nightlock is actually more violent than Rip." The Guardian sighed through his nose. "But it is more refined. You are very intelligent, you deserve a better name than Rip." The bird shrugged again. "I'll agree with that." He turned to his brother, grinned and said, "You should be Seneca." Darcy gasped, "Ooh ooh! He could be Peeta! Because Peeta's a painter, like from the video-" "Shh," Jay gently touched her hand. Darcy nodded. "Peeta is a good name." "A painter?" The boy's face was blank, but there was a touch of something in his voice. Something like hope. Clint ran his hand through his short hair. "A Hunger Games theme?" Arkeesh seemed uneasy. "A theme for their names?" Jay glanced at the sleeping television, then at the Guardian. Loki looked thoughtful. "I don't think it was intentional." The boy was whispering the name Peter over and over again, trying it out. Only Jay and Jane heard him mispronounce it. The latter smiled, and asked the boy, "Do you like to paint?" The boy shook his long blue hair out of his face. He looked extremely nervous as he murmured, "Sort of, yeah." "Then Peeta would fit you," she said. He tried to smile, but found he couldn't. Instead, he jerked his head in acknowledgment. "Peter's cool." Clint blinked at him. "Did you just say 'Peter'?" The boy looked confused. "Isn't Peter my name?" "It's PeetAH," said Darcy, stressing the last syllable, "Think of Pita bread." "I'm gonna be named after bread?" Jay suddenly spoke. "Vincent." The boy turned his head. Jay explained, "Like Vincent Van-Gogh." Loki raised an eyebrow. "The tortured painter who cut off his own ear?" The boy gently lifted a hand to his left ear. "Yes," Jay turned to the boy. "Vincent Van Gogh was a famous painter, who was an incredible impressionist." She didn't explain what an impressionist was, and she did not have to. The boy understood. "I like that," he answered nervously. "But what about the torture part?" Jay scratched sadly at the floor. "He had hard life. He suffered much internally. But great art arose from the pain." Something stirred in the boy. His first painting flashed in his mind. The boy suddenly wanted his paintbrush. "I like Vincent," he said. Across from him, in the circle, Arkeesh smiled. Behind his old eyes, there was understanding. "Are you sure?" He asked gently. The boy waited for a moment, then nodded. Loki looked from the bird to the boy. "These will be your names, at least while we are teaching you." "Why are you teaching us?" Nightlock asked bluntly. The strangers all glared at Loki. He dipped his head, looking a bit sheepish. "I seem to have lost the counter-charm to bring us back into our own world." Clint growled. "That's not what you said before." Loki froze. Clint continued, "You said, 'Apparently, there seems to be no counter-charm." Loki raised himself angrily. "There is a way to get back." He sighed. "I just need time to find it." Arkeesh, the Guardian, said, "I have allowed them to stay here, until they find the counter-charm. They, in return, have offered to train you." Vincent blinked nervously. Nightlock, however, seemed overjoyed. He turned his gaze to Loki, and grinned. The boy raised his hand again. "What are you going to teach us?" He asked. Jay answered, "What do you want to learn?" "Archery," said Nightlock. He leaned forward eagerly, alert and excited. Clint grinned. "We can do that." "I can teach you guys to use a taser," said Darcy. She was serious about it. Vincent raised his hand yet again. Loki sighed through his nose. "You don't need to keep raising your hand, Vincent." Vincent brushed his hair out of his face. "Sorry." "What were you going to say?" Arkeesh asked. "Archery and tazing is cool and all that," he began, "But what about math and grammar and science and stuff?" Nightlock snorted. "We already know all that," he said. Arkeesh answered, "These people have agreed to train you in specialities. Things that no school could teach you. As for math, I will be enrolling you in a middle school." The two children were horrified. "What?" Nightlock seemed angry. "How am I supposed to learn in a school? There are stupid people everywhere!" The boy's reaction was less profound. His eyes were wide, and he was shaking slightly. He said nothing, but looked to Jay, shooting her a pleading look. The girl shook her head sadly. "I cannot help you," she said, "I'm homeschooled." Nightlock was glaring disbelievingly at his Guardian. Upon hearing Jay, he said, "Why couldn't you homeschool us?" "You're past the point where I can teach you," Arkeesh answered. His amber eyes were sad. To break the silence that followed, Jane asked, "What else would you want to learn?" Here the bird blushed, and shrugged. His face took on a stony look. Vincent poked him. "Tell them," he whispered, so that the others could not hear, "Tell them what you told me." Nightlock shook his head, unwilling to reveal his secret. Instead, he straightened up and said aloud, "Vincent 's always wanted to take an art course." The boy's yellow face turned orange from embarrassment. "Why?" He asked his brother, "why would you do that?" Vincent had intended to keep that secret. "I'm sorry, bro." Jane looked sad. "I'm sorry, Vincent. I don't think we have any artists." Jay glanced at Vincent, and kept her eyes on him. The boy let out a sad, yet relieved, "Oh." Darcy crossed her legs. "Let's put it this way," she said, "What do you want to be when you grow up?" The two children had never seriously considered this question. After a minute, Nightlock said, "A warrior." Darcy didn't seem surprised. "Really?" Nightlock considered for a moment, then nodded. "Yup. Warrior." "Seriously?" "Of course. I'm always serious." Arkeesh smiled. Thor lifted his head. "We will be able to train you, if that is the path that you seek." Jane smiled kindly at Vincent. "What about you?" Vincent twisted around, looking out the window. "I don't know," he said. "I've never truly thought about it." Arkeesh spoke, "Every one of these people have offered to pass on to you one of their skills. Take all of your studies, whether in school or from us, seriously. This knowledge you will take with you into life." Loki thought he saw the faintest trace if a smile on the boy's face, but it quickly faded. ... The next day, Clint gave Nightlock and Vincent their first archery lesson. "Hurry up!" Nightlock called from outside. Vincent nodded. "I just have to get my sneakers on." "Well hurry!" Vincent felt warmer at the sound of his brother's impatience. It's just like him, he thought. "Kaltxì," said a voice behind him. Vincent jumped, and turned. It was Jay. "Ngaytxoa," she said, raising her hands in front of her, "I didn't mean to scare you." "That's okay," Vincent said. Jay tilted her head. "I wanted to tell you something." "What is it?" Vincent felt his heart starting to pound in nervousness. "VINCENT!" Came Nightlock's voice. "I'M ASSUMING YOU ARE IN THE BATHROOM! MEET ME OUT HERE WHEN YOU'RE DONE." Jay ducked her head and laughed quietly. Vincent's eyes smiled. "He's weird that way," said The boy. "Weird is good," Jay said. "What is it you wanted to tell me?" Jay knelt down beside him. She looked as nervous as he felt. "Jane was wrong." Vincent gazed at her questioningly. "I do a little bit of art," she said. Her voice was quiet. Vincent didn't understand what she meant at first. "Oh," he said, "Okay." Jay continued, "You had expressed interest in art, but you seemed nervous. I thought it would better to ask you alone." Then it sunk in what she was offering, and Vincent smiled. "Oh, you can teach me?" Jay ducked her head shyly. "If you wish to learn," The boy nodded eagerly. "Yeah." He finished tying the laces on his white sneakers, and stood up. "Well, uh," he said. Jay smiled. "We can start when you're ready." With that, she stood up with him. want to come with me?" Vincent asked. Jay shook her head. "Kay." said Vincent. He walked out the door. "Kìyevame," she whispered. "Eywa ngahu." Nightlock was right. The outdoor world no longer seemed like it was made of felt. It was alive with him, and he could feel the sunlight on his skin. His skin. It was real, as real as the ground beneath him. He wanted to take his shoes off, but thought better of it. He didn't want an arrow in his foot. He caught up to his brother in time to watch him aim an arrow at a target taped to a tree. "Whoa!" It was Clint. "Hold it until Vincent passes!" Nightlock lowered the bow. Vincent sheepishly walked behind the bird, then took a few steps back, to clear the way. Clint crossed his arms and jerked his head. Nightlock raised the bow, pulled back, and aimed. In that moment, the clouds passed from over head, letting out a stream of light. It struck the bird, illuminating him. His posture was strong, straight backed, that of a warrior. Vincent knew then it was a sign. He let the arrow go, and it hit its mark exactly. Clint stared at him. Nightlock was coming back into the moment, however, and didn't notice. He tossed his head, looked at the archer, and asked, "Is it okay?" Clint was shocked. "Have you used a bow before?" Nightlock shook his head. "Show me how you held the bow." Nightlock demonstrated. Clint watched it intently. "What you did," Clint said, "Takes years to perfect. Look how far it went in." He gestured to the target. Nightlock walked a few paces to where the arrow was, circled his fingers around the wooden arrow, and pulled on it. It took a minute for it to come out. He gave it to Clint. "Can I try again?" Nightlock was serious, and calm. Clint nodded. "Try it from farther away." Nightlock walked ten paces away from the target. "This good?" "Farther." Nightlock walked a little further. "Now go ahead." Vincent glanced nervously at Clint. It was a far distance. "It's kind of far. He's only ever shot one arrow before." Clint laughed. "Yeah, but he did pretty well with that." Clint and Vincent stepped back, giving Nightlock a clear path. He lifted the bow, notched an arrow, and shot. It hit its mark. "That's awesome." Clint looked at the bird, then whispered to Vincent, "This is really his first time?" Vincent nodded. The lesson continued. Clint taught them as if they had both just begun, without showing any signs of prodigy. Vincent caught on quick enough, but his mind wasn't on the bow, borrowed from Arkeesh. He kept thinking about Jay's art lesson. They trained all day. That evening, during dinner, Nightlock and Clint would only talk of the archery lesson. "So really," Clint asked Arkeesh, "He's never shot before? You've never given him tips?" Arkeesh's eyes were laughing. "No. I was never good at archery myself." Vincent pushed food around with his fork. "Why did you have a bow?" He asked. "It belonged to a friend of mine. He gave it to me years ago." He didn't seem to want to say anymore on the matter. Vincent glanced at Jay, who grinned furtively. "I'm glad that you've taken to archery, Nightlock," said the Guardian. Vincent stared at his plate, wishing that dinner was over. He looked over at Jay, and saw that she had been trying to catch his eye. She was not eating. Neither was he. "May I be excused?" He asked politely. Jay was alert in her chair. Arkeesh seemed to notice, but said nothing except, "Yes." Simultaneously, the two got up and left. Vincent lead her into his room he shared with the bird. He closed the door, and said quietly, "Thanks for coming." Jay smiled. "What art are you interested in?" Vincent shrugged. "I paint," he whispered. Jay's eyes widened. "I love that. I've never been able to paint." Vincent felt a bit disappointed. "What kind of art to you do?" He desperately hoped that it wasn't crafts. He didn't feel comfortable trying to build something out of clay and glitter. "I draw," Jay said. Vincent relaxed. "So do I," he said, "as a hobby." He was a little worried. He had been hoping that Jay could help whim with painting techniques. However, he was still curious. "Here," he said. He walked over to his nightstand. He opened the draw and pulled out a sketchbook and a pencil. He opened it to a fresh page, and pushes it nervously towards her. Jay took the pencil, then the book. She disappeared behind it for a few minutes, then laid it down. On it was a picture of a cat. "Mew," said Vincent. "Your turn," she said. Vincent stared at the paper. "You aren't going to give me instructions." Jay looked confused. "Why would I? This is art." Vincent felt something inside of him relax. "Okay. What should I draw?" "That one's up to you," she said, smirking, not unkindly. Vincent took the pencil, feeling a bit awkward. He felt a pressing urge to think of something. He found he couldn't. "I should tell you," Jay said, "I'm not an art teacher. I'm making this up as we go along." Vincent laughed without smiling, something only he could do. He took his pencil, and drew a circle. Then he pushed the drawing to Jay. She added a few lines to it, forming a head. Vincent added in the features. Jay have the drawing Vulcan ears, and Vincent added a mustache. They stared at their drawing. "Let's color it in," said Vincent. He pulled out a packet of colored Crayola markers. "Let's make him blue," said Jay. Her eyes were shining. Vincent handed her a blue marker, and she got to work on the skin. He stared at the pile of markers, chose a green marker, and colored in the flowing hair. The two worked this way, forgetting it was an art lesson. Soon the picture was finished. The two artists looked at their strange, multi-colored picture. It looked like a child's kindergarten homework. They were extremely proud.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5. Springtime. Arkeesh came to watch Nightlock's second archery lesson. He brought the training bow with him. The Guardian gave it to the bird, who nodded. The other observers, Clint, Vincent, and Jay, stepped back, allowing Nightlock the room to shoot. He took a deep breath, armed the bow with arrow, and pulled back on the string. It felt to the bird easy, natural. Nightlock was no stranger to the bow, though he had met it only yesterday. He knew. He felt. He was with the weapon in a way that was impossible. He let the arrow fly. It hit its mark, the training target they used earlier, bringing it to the ground. Behind him, there was silence, but Nightlock wasn't paying attention. He stalked over to find his arrow. When he returned, he saw a strange look in Areesh's eyes. Startled, he realized it was pride. Behind it was a certain gravity. Nightlock spoke in a rough voice, still high pitched, but different from the voice of his puppet form. "What?" It came out rougher than he had meant. Nightlock found himself overly sensitive in the moment. The Guardian said to him, "You are a warrior." Nightlock held his gaze. "I want to be." The Guardian nodded. "I know." ... Later that evening, Nightlock and Arkeesh took a walk outside. The sun was setting, bleeding onto the clouds. "Nightlock," the Guardian said, "Is this truly your first time handling a bow?" The bird looked up from the ground. "Yes," he said. There was silence for a while. Then Arkeesh said, "What are your questions?" "Why? And what do you know?" The Guardian's eyes lightened. "I know that you found your calling." The bird gave a rough, short laugh. "Duh." Arkeesh raised his eyebrows. Nightlock noticed, grinned and ducked his head apologetically. "Sorry," he said, "I'm just..." The Guardian sighed. "I am not exactly sure how to tell you," he said. "I think you might have quite literally found your destiny." The bird raised one eyebrow skeptically. Arkeesh was serious. "You have. Nightlock," he said, stopping, "you were meant to be an archer. Does it feel right?" "It does," he said. His voice was low, but steady. The Guardian smiled. "It seems you will be a great warrior one day." There was a glint of something in the bird's eyes. "There are many groups of warriors. They are brothers and sisters of the Guardians. Perhaps, one day you will join them." Nightlock said nothing. He couldn't have said anything, he knew that the Guardian understood. Someday he would. Back in the house, Vincent and Jay were drawing together. "What can you teach me?" the boy asked. Jay shrugged. "That's not my choice," she said. Vincent wasn't quite sure what that meant. Jay seemed to speak in riddles, or nonsense. They were sitting at the kitchen table. Paper and various drawing materials were scattered everywhere. Jay was sketching something. It was Loki, but it didn't look like Loki. The hair seemed more exaggerated, and cartoony, but he looked infinitely more attractive. "What is that?" asked Vincent. Jay looked up at him and smiled. "It's Loki. In a manga form." Manga? Vincent rubbed his shoulder. "What is Manga?" Jay's eyes lit up. "Only the best thing in the world!" She went off into a long lecture about Manga, its origins, it styles and techniques, and certain mangas that she loved. Vincent was enraptured. They spent their art lesson together drawing manga. Vincent quickly picked up on it, and they were soon drawing sequences for fun. They used several characters, most of them made up, but also drew each other. Jay drew fire, Loki, and a red-headed boy that she didn't know the name of. Vincent mostly used colors, painting as best he could with pencils and markers. He drew his family, Arkeesh and Nightlock, and his father. "Who is that?" Jay asked, spotting the drawing of his father. Vincent paused, somewhat reluctant. He saw her eyes, gentle, and his fear faded. "That's my dad," he said. He decided not to mention that he was a computer. Jay looked confused. "I've never seen him around." Vincent said, "He died before I was born." "I'm so sorry," she said, her eyes were horrified, "I didn't know. I didn't mean to bring that up." Vincent smiled. "That's okay. I didn't mind." They continued to draw. The room was silent excepting the sound of pencil on paper. Then Jay asked, "Where is your mother?" Vincent's pencil stopped. He gazed sadly at the paper. "She died too," he said. Suddenly, he smiled. "I have a picture of her," he said, "Do you want to see?" Jay nodded, and Vincent pushed himself eagerly out of his chair. He ran to his room, reached into his pillowcase, and pulled out two photos. When he came back, he laid them out on the table. "That's my mom," said Vincent, pointing to a picture of a young girl. She, like her son, was a muppet. A muppet. Her felt skin was yellow, like Vincent's. Her long blue hair fell past her waist. She was smiling cheerfully, sitting with her arms wrapped around her knees. "She's beautiful. What is her name?" Jay asked. "Sasha." Vincent didn't look up from the photo for a second. When he did, he saw Jay staring at the second photo, looking concerned. "Your father?" she asked. Vincent nodded. "He's a computer." "What?" Vincent shook his head, and gave no more answer. "I think you look like Sasha." Something inside of the boy relaxed a little bit more, and he felt warmer. "Yeah, I guess your right." ... The days that passed had no particular pattern. The boy stopped using his alarm clock. He woke up each morning to the sunlight streaming through his window. Vincent always woke up with no one beside him, for his brother woke up before dawn each morning to watch the sun rise. The boy had not yet joined him. The six strangers slept wherever they could. Arkeesh had found three air mattresses and three sleeping bags, leftover from camping trips. Darcy had quickly claimed an air mattress, and the other two were given first to Jane and Jay, while at he other three strangers were left with the sleeping bags. However, Thor was too tall to fit in any of them, and Jay preferred a sleeping bag, so the two switched. The three women, including Jay, all slept in the living room. Thor, Loki, and Clint were stationed in the boys' room. Every morning, when Nightlock left the house, he was careful to always step over Jay, without waking her. The bird would go out of his way to try jumping over Jay without waking her. Every night, he set his alarm to wake him. BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP... Shut up, you stupid clock, can't you see I'm trying? BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP A short man in a white t-shirt and white work pants, both covered in oil and grease stains, was gesturing a truck that was backing up. Nightlock watched with interest as the truck stopped and the man started to unpack the truck. In it was a large tank, full of oil. BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP The back of the truck was tilted down, allowing the container to slide off of the back. BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP The truck had ceased backing up, but the noise continued. BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP The short man was still behind the truck, spotting the oil tank. BEEP BEEP BEEP BEE-CRASH No! Watch out, you dumb moron! BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEEP The chains holding the lid tight on the container broke with a horrible cranking sound. Nightlock watched with horror as the short man slipped on the spilled oil. He lifted himself from the ground, just as the large tank fell out of the truck. BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP There was a horrible noise. Then nothing but the incessant beeping of the truck. BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP Vincent's voice, crying out, "Make it stop!" Nightlock awoke to complete silence. He was sweating. The bird stared at the ceiling, listening to the sound of his own breath. Shaking, he tried to remember what had woken him up. It was a dream, a nightmare. Nightlock stayed still. There was a man, he remembered. He had died. No, he thought, He will die. Something told him. His dream meant something. Nightlock had had these dreams before. Nightlock glanced at the alarm clock again. The tired red numbers portrayed 3:04 in the morning. He groaned softly. Nightlock couldn't possibly go back to sleep. He rolled over, watching his brother. Vincent looked pale in the moonlight flitting through the open window. On the floor he saw the three men, also asleep. Nightlock was alone in the late hours of the night. He didn't move, and hardly dared to breathe. The moon outside was bright and inviting. Not quite full yet, but still gave off light. Suddenly, Nightlock couldn't take it anymore. He had to get out of the house. He loved the night, but couldn't bear the dark. He slid out of the bed, leaving the other four behind. He closed the door quietly, and padded into the living room. He saw Jane, Darcy, and Jay sleeping soundly. He walked around the two women, and leaped over Jay like he always did. She didn't wake, and he smiled. Nightlock opened the door, undoing the many locks that kept it shut, then putting them back in place before closing the door behind him. Once outside, the horrors of his dream became less terrifying, but more serious. Nightlock's shadow played on the ground as he treaded silently across the field to the old apple tree. He used to love this place, not as much as Vincent hard, but it still meant something to him. His gaze reached into the branches, seeing slivers of silver light bouncing on not-yet-ripe green apples. Weird, they used to be red, he thought. Up ahead, the moon was shining brightly, constant but gentle. The bird raised his arms, wishing desperately for wings. He stretched back, and his bones began to change. His human form changed into the glorious, jet black and green bird. Nightlock launched himself into the air, letting out a triumphant song-call. His elegant wings were silhouetted against the crescent moon. From his height, the house looked impossibly tiny. Everything did. Nothing mattered. Only the important things did. Nightlock was the only one alive, and yet was not alone. He could decide was was important, and right now, he wanted to go to the town. The great black bird was a flitting shadow, blinking out stars as he raced past them, setting them on fire again. The sun was already rising when he reached the town. Arkeesh and the others would still be asleep, thinking that Nightlock was outside. And he was. He wasn't lying, exactly. The bird perched on a rooftop, enjoying the red sunlight. Below him, there was only the quiet hustling of shops slowly awakening. He felt glad that the world was alive. 


	6. Chapter 6

The weeks that followed were the last of summer. The children's lessons were not confined to just archery and art; the other travelers shared their knowledge. Thor had taken it upon himself to train the boy's as fierce warriors, which both boys enjoyed. Nightlock, however, took Thor's lessons much more seriously than Vincent did. Jay continued her art lessons with Vincent, and was a close friend to the bird. There was no learning curve between them; only learning each other. Clint showed them not only archery, but also knife skills and martial arts. Jay assisted in these lessons, revealing that she had some skill in the martial arts, and learned much herself. Easily, the strangest lessons they had were with Darcy. They could happen at any moment. What she taught them varied, depending on the circumstances around them. Her topics could be anything, varying from political science, to the best places to go for food, how to tell a man that to get out of their lives. While the children didn't understand half of it, they drank in everything she said, awed by her bossy tone. Darcy also convinced Jane to teach Nightlock and Vincent. "I'm just not sure," Jane said, "I mean, what do I have to offer other than astrophysics? I highly doubt either of them are interested." Nightlock, who was standing behind her, listening, replied, "I am." Jane turned to him excitedly. "Really?" The bird was certain. So Jane began to teach him science. Between the three and the travelers there was a bond growing. The teachers learned as much as the students, especially Jay, who was both. Every day for them was a new experience, a new lesson. It was a summer school in all its glory, tinged with empty days and days spent up in the woods, in campsites, in the town. Arkeesh showed the six strangers everything he could. They soon became familiar with their surroundings. Vincent couldn't remember a time when he was happier. He and Jay no longer had formal art lessons, they just drew together. They drew whenever they wanted, whenever they could. Vincent enjoyed sketching, but never returned to painting. Truth be told, he was still frightened of being rejected. He told himself, Tomorrow, I'll show her tomorrow. Besides art, Vincent found he had a friend in Jay, having much in common with her. Both were quiet, enjoyed art and cats. "Mew." A small gray cat padded softly into the living room. Nightlock hissed and left the room. Jay, who was sitting on the floor with Jane and Vincent, gasped quietly. "You didn't tell me you have a cat!" Vincent shrugged his shoulders, and smiled as the cat rubbed its head against his knee. "Her name is RainbowCat." Jane stared incredulously at its gray fluff. "How did you come up with that name?" "Well, when we first found her, she arrived on a stream of rainbows." The Rainbow Cat had wandered away from Vincent, over to Jay, who gently stroked her fur. "She's so tiny," Jay said, "How old is she?" "I'm not sure. She's pretty young, but she isn't a kitten anymore." Jane was still stuck on the rainbows. "So when you say she arrived on a stream of rainbows?" Vincent nodded. "Can you explain that a bit more?" He picked up the cat, and petted her as he said, "It was raining that day. Nightlock and me were in the backyard, playing. All of the sudden, it got really bright right where we were, and there was this magic light, and rainbows, and then she came down. So I named her RainbowCat." "I think it's a great name for her," said Jay, beaming. Behind them, the door opened. Nightlock, Clint, and Loki were in the doorway, Clint trailing a dead deer. The cat, interested by the scent of fresh kill, went to observe the body. "We got a deer," said Nightlock. "Don't bring it inside!" said Jane, shooing the hunters away, "Go skin that in the backyard, you'll get guts everywhere." Vincent wanted to throw up. From his position, he was looking the animal directly in the eye. It was dull and empty. The boy shivered. Beside him, Jay leapt to her feet. "I can help with that." They left, taking Jay with them, leaving Vincent and Jane alone together with the cat. Vincent couldn't get the deer's glassy eyes out of his mind. "Are you okay?" Jane asked him. Vincent looked up for a second. "Yeah, it's just... I'm a vegetarian." About a week after the strangers had arrived, Vincent found one morning that Jay had braided all of her hair into multiple, small braids. "I didn't know you could do dreadlocks," he had said. Jay smiled, showing her sharp teeth. "What your thinking of is called cornrows," she said, " And these aren't even real. They aren't braided to the scalp, see?" "Oh," he said looking at his shoes, but quickly looking up again. "I still think they look pretty." "Irayo, ma tsmukan," said Jay, "Thank you. I started doing my hair this way after I got into Avatar." "What's that?" Jay then explained to him how she, after watching a movie called Avatar for what she said was the fourth time, she fell in love with the Na'vi. She explained who they were to the painter, and their ways. Jay explained that she had been speaking their language often, and translated some basic words and phrases that she used often. Vincent wasn't quite sure if he understood, but listened anyway. It sounded so pretty, and made him think of blues and greens, colors he hadn't seen in forever. These were happy days for Nightlock, who finally had a challenge. Astro-physics was as hard as it looked, and infinitely more exciting. Jane was the best teacher he could have had. She didn't have any books or worksheets to hand out, so she taught him from scratch. She drew diagrams, and showed him things in her science journal. Unprepared for a beginner, she treated him as an adult. His mental capacity was astounding. He was learning things in days what would take the average collage student months of classes. Nightlock drank everything in; breathed it, loved it. The bird had an insatiable thirst for knowledge. Arkeesh watched all of this, and his heart warmed. His children were growing stronger everyday. If all went well, they might just stand a chance. "Let's make tea," said Jay. Vincent lifted his head from his book. On Jay's suggestion, he was reading Watership Down. He liked it because it was about rabbits, but the werewolf had told him it was an amazing story. In the rocking chair next to him, Nightlock was sitting upside down, bored out of his mind. It had been raining all day, keeping the bird away from the skies. "Tea? Why?" He asked. "Why not?" Vincent fought the urge to laugh. It was a very good reason, after all. "What kind of tea shall we make?" He asked, doing his best British accent. He couldn't help but associate tea with the British, and besides, it was fun. "Green tea," said Jay, copying his accent and nodding her head once. She and Vincent stood up, ready to go in the kitchen, but Nightlock didn't move. "It seems rather boring," he said. Jay cocked her head. "Have you anything better to do?" "Good point." He stretched his arms luxuriously over his head, climbed out of the chair. Vincent heard a cracking sound. "That doesn't sound good," he said, keeping his accent. Nightlock laughed bitterly. "It's the rain," he said, "I haven't been able to fly in days." "You're forgetting the accent, brother!" said Vincent, mocking offense. Nightlock rolled his eyes. "Oh, all right then," he said, his voice sounding much higher, doing a perfect impression. With that, all three of them linked arms, Vincent being in the middle, and skipped into the kitchen. "I can't skip," said Jay, after tripping over Nightlock's feet and almost bringing them down to the floor, "I've never been able to." "Don't worry," replied Vincent, "I can teach you." He was surprised to see a pained look on her face. Had he said something wrong? His palms began to sweat. Great, now I'm sweating all over her. Some friend I am. "That's all right, sir, but I am quite fine," said Jay as Nightlock broke the chain and searched through the cabinets to find a teakettle. In her normal voice, Jay whispered, "I actually choose not to know how to skip. I'm sure I could learn, I just have fun saying that to people." Vincent found this odd, but he wasn't about to say so. Instead, he grinned. "You know," said Nightlock, "Just because we are drinking tea doesn't mean we're British. We could be French, or Japanese." "You have a point," said Jay, opening a drawer and pulling out a large bag of tea. "But can you do a Japanese accent?" Nightlock crossed his arms. "I can do a French one." Vincent sat down at the table where the bird usually was. "I think the French drink more coffee than tea." Nightlock replied in a French accent, "Then let us drink coffee!" He gestured widely with his arm, knocking down several pans. "Oops." The three spent a few moments returning the pans back to their original state. "Now we can make the tea!" Nightlock said in his accent. "Huzzah!" said Jay and Vincent. "Does anyone know how to make tea!" asked Nightlock. "It's simple," said Jay. "You just pour the tea leaves in hot water." Vincent then realized that they had a problem. "We're not allowed to use the stove." Arkeesh had told them on several occasions never to touch the stove. They always had to wait for a responsible adult. Nightlock asked, "How else are we supposed to get the water hot?" "Maybe the microwave?" Jay asked. The bird shook his head. "No, it would explode before it got hot enough." A maniac light came into Jay's eyes. "That would be fun." "I totally agree, but Arkeesh would probably not." "Aw." Vincent watched them debating whether or not to blow up the microwave, trying to think. How could they get the water hot safely? Think, he told himself, when do you use hot water? If he was cleaning dishes, he used it in the sink. Maybe, they could make tea in the sink? No, it would all drain out. They had lost the plug to the sink to Rainbow Cat months ago. And the sink might be dirty. He let his thoughts wander, waiting for an answer. Dirty water, brown water, tea... tea... tea... Tea is brown... Scrub scrub, I lost the plug, scrub until the water is brown... "We could use the bathtub," Vincent said. The two stared at him. Oh great, he thought, I've gone and said something stupid. "Vincent, you're a genius!" said Jay. Nightlock nodded his head slowly. "I like that plan." Five minutes later, they were in the bathroom, filling the tub with hot water. Nightlock kept shaking his head, grinning. "This is such a great idea." Jay tossed in a few tea leaves, asking, "Won't Arkeesh be mad that we're doing this?" Nightlock shrugged. "Yeah, but not as mad as he would be if we used the stove. He honestly doesn't care what we do, as long as it isn't dangerous." Jay laughed. "This isn't dangerous." "Yeah," added Vincent, "Tea is good for you." Nightlock watched the tub fill with water, throwing in packets of tea at random. They had not decided on one kind of tea, and so were using them all. It was a good thing too, Vincent thought, otherwise we'd run out of tea. The water was turning brown, and they were sweating. "Can we open the door?" asked Vincent, "it's kind of hot in here." Jay shook her head, and Nightlock explained, "If we did, we might get in trouble. Could you imagine him walking in here and finding us making tea?" Vincent imagined. Arkeesh, confused at first, then irritated. "Yup." They sat in contented silence for a while, adding tea bags and leaves into the water. "Guys," said Jay, breaking the silence, "What are we gonna do with all this tea?" Vincent peered over the edge of the tub, fully realizing for the first time how much tea there truly was. "I don't know," he said truthfully. There was another period of silence, broken by a light tapping on the door. "Oh sh-" Jay cut herself off, looking at Vincent. No on moved. The door slowly opened. There, to no one surprise but all their horror, was Arkeesh. "What are you all doing in here?" Vincent's heart was pounding. The look on his face was enough to give them away. Looking to the others for help, he saw they looked just the same. For a minute, no one said anything. "TO THE HILLS!" Nightlock said, and the next thing he knew, Vincent was racing through the house, flanked by Nightlock and Jay. They barged through the front door, running out into the backyard. There was a rising panic in Vincent's chest, propelling him forward and away from the house. He felt like a hunted animal. They ran towards the forest, where Nightlock, Vincent and Arkeesh had often gone camping. They went deep into the forest, deeper than Vincent had ever gone before. "We can't stop," Nightlock said, panting, "He knows that we're gonna come here. We gotta go further in." They ran until none of them could run anymore. They collapsed on the ground, surrounded by underbrush and trees. Jay quickly stood up again, however, and circled the tree close to her. She grabbed a low hanging branch, pushed herself up nimbly, and soon disappeared into the tree. "Oeru nong," she said, "ketenga utralti" Her voice sounded different to Vincent, more British accent had been replaced by something strange. Na'vi, Vincent thought. A little shiver ran down his spine, Nightlock called up to her, "We can't understand you, Jay." "Follow! Different trees!" They did, and soon all three were hidden in the branches of the pine trees. "It stopped raining," said Vincent. And it had. In their crazed rush, no one had noticed. It was silent for a long time. "We can't stay here," said Vincent. "Yes we can," said Nightlock. The dark grey sky was turning a smoky color. It was not cold, but humid and warm. All around them, there were birds chirping. Arkeesh would be looking for them soon. The three children stayed silent, hidden up in the boughs of the trees, waiting. Hours, they saw moving lights, accompanied by a voice, calling for the children. The person was several yards away. The boy recognized Loki's voice. Had the others seen? Should he warn them? Or would Loki hear him? " Ì'awn," Jay's whisper came from inches away, "Stay here. Don't say anything. Kin oe tìfnuti." Vincent was so startled he nearly fell out of the tree. He hadn't seen Jay at all. He twisted his head around to look for her, but she was nowhere to be seen. Loki was coming closer. He was now directly under Nightlock's tree. Hold your breath, Mockingjay, thought Vincent. Suddenly, Jay dropped down from the tree. Loki did not seem surprised. "Are you always up a tree?" Jay shrugged. "Sometimes I'm in a bush." "I know," said Loki, "That's where I found you." The werewolf smiled. "Lini krra oel lu." "Zerok oel krra." Apparently, Loki could speak werewolf, too. That would make sense, thought Vincent. He continued, "Ayfo... fkip payutralit srak?" "Kawm," Jay said. "So, are they up there or not?" Jay smiled at him. "Depends... How much trouble are we in?" "Not too much. What were you doing in there? Arkeesh told us the entire bathtub was filled with tea." Vincent had to try hard not to laugh. Far away from the eyes of his guardian, the scenario seemed funny. Somewhere close by, Nightlock fell out of his tree. He was laughing. Deciding that the gig was up, Vincent followed him. 


End file.
